


A Man Without Conviction

by rachaellikestoread



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pocket Monsters: Sun & Moon | Pokemon Sun & Moon Versions
Genre: F/M, Pregnancy, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-25
Updated: 2018-01-08
Packaged: 2018-11-18 17:04:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11294955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rachaellikestoread/pseuds/rachaellikestoread
Summary: When an unexpected pregnancy threatens to turn Faba's world upside down, he is forced to confront the issues he has with children, his family...and himself.





	1. Chapter 1

Faba had never believed in superstitions. He believed in one thing, and one thing only: facts. Raw data. That which could be observed. “Bad things happen in threes,” therefore, was nothing more than a psychological phenomenon caused by human attachment to the number three as something that was neither too little nor too much.

But when his demotion was followed by Wicke turning his world upside down—no, grabbing his world, flinging it to the ground, and crushing it beneath her heel—with two little words, he expected an earthquake or nuclear attack to send him scuttling under her desk to complete the cursed trio.

Or maybe he just wanted an excuse to hide.

“Faba, are you listening? I said—”

“I know what you said!” he snapped, then immediately regretted it when he saw the devasted look on her face. “I mean…Dear God, Wicke. Are you sure? Are you _positive_? Maybe there was a mistake. It happens.”

She sank into one of her chairs. “Do you think that didn’t occur to me? The moment that plus sign appeared, I considered the possibility of a false positive. I didn’t want to send you into a panic over nothing. But today, the doctor detected a heartbeat. I heard it, too.” And she spoke the dreaded words a second time: “I’m pregnant.”

 _Have an abortion!_ he wanted to scream at her. _I don’t need this! You don’t need this! This will ruin both our lives! We’ll have to go public about our relationship—or whatever we have!_ But it was her body, not his. Instead, all he said was, “ _How?_ ”

“I don’t know.” She placed a hand on her belly. “Believe me, I was surprised, too.”

Faba put his face in his hands. “I don’t understand. You’re on the pill, right?”

“Yes.”

“I always, always used a condom,” he continued, desperation creeping into his voice. “And I always pulled out, just to be sure.”

“I know. I was there.”

“I should have had the vasectomy.” He collapsed into her computer chair and rested his chin on her desk. “Why did I keep putting it off? I had the money. God knows I had enough leave.” He lifted his head and looked over at Wicke, who seemed lost in thought. “I assume you’ve made up your mind?”

She nodded, slowly. “Faba…I always wanted to be a mother. When you and I got involved, though I just figured it wasn’t going to happen. I didn’t mind it too terribly, really. I’ve almost come to think of Gladion and Lillie as my own children. But now that there’s this new life growing inside me…I want to keep them. I want to give birth to them. I want to raise them and show them this beautiful world we live in.”

“I figured.” Faba tugged on his beard as he considered his next words. “Look, I…I can’t say I’m happy. I know—I don’t deserve you. I’m not a very nice person. And even if you have this child, I’m still going to dislike children.” He took a deep breath, then let it out. Dear God, was this really happening? “But humans are animals, too. We have an instinct to reproduce—to pass on our genes. And those of us who don’t have something profoundly wrong with us have the capacity to develop a sense of responsibility for the well-being of anyone who shares our genes.” Damn it, he was getting too wordy. “What I mean to say is that, while I may not be the ideal parent, I am not going to abandon you or our offspring. I will do my best to carry out my responsibilities in providing for it.”

He saw tears in Wicke’s eyes, and he looked away, not wanting her to see his.

“Then…you’re not angry with me?” she asked, in a very out-of-character tone.

“No.” He removed his glasses and rubbed at his temples. “I’m angry, yes. I’m angry at fate, or God, or whatever you want to call it. Most of all, I’m angry at that devious, persistent little sperm of mine that managed to beat all odds and fertilize one of your eggs.” He scooted his chair closer to Wicke and took her hands in his. “But not with you. I trust you. I know you wouldn’t do something like this on purpose.”

Her entire body seemed to melt with relief. “I’m glad. I know how you feel about children, so I wasn’t sure how you’d react.”

He waited for her to say more, but she remained silent. _I suppose, then I’ll have to get this out of the way._ “Children…are messy, loud, and unpredictable. They want to be treated like adults, but they don’t act like adults. They get away with being stubborn, uncooperative, and rude because they are ‘just kids.’ Worst of all, everyone acts like there’s something wrong with you if you don’t love being around them.” There was more, of course, but he wasn’t ready to tell Wicke about any of it. She was going through enough right now. “But...I think I could love my own child. Rather, I don’t think I could not love my own child. It what nature dictates, at least in humans.” 

Even as Faba spoke, he could sense panic forming in the pit of his stomach. All sorts of ugly thoughts and expressions were building up inside his head. He needed to talk to someone who was not Wicke, before he said something he would regret later. 

“If it’s all right with you,” he said, “I need to get some shopping done.” No, she wouldn’t fall for that. He could already detect a hint of doubt in her expression. “Okay, the truth is…I need some time alone. I need to process this.” He gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile, adding, “Don’t worry. I’m not going to run off or anything. I just need to vent without having to worry about hurting you.” _Oh, shit._ He looked down at his hands. He had said the wrong thing again.

Wicke gave his hand a squeeze. “You’re lucky I care about you so much, because you can still be a real asshole sometimes. Look at me, Faba.” He did, and his heart lept to see the indulgent smile on her face. “Go ahead. You’re right; the last thing I need right now is to hear you whine about how hard this is for you. But I know it’s something you need to do, and honestly, if I were in your situation, I would, too. You don’t have to be around me every second of the day. In fact, I don’t want you to. I’d go crazy.”

He nodded, then reluctantly let go of her hands. “I…don’t deserve you,” he muttered again.

She stood up and stretched, and Faba stared at her abdomen. She looked no different than usual. When would she start to show? Faba realized that he knew nothing about pregnancy. He had figured he would never need to.

“Spare me the self-loathing,” she told him. “I can’t deal with it today.” She walked out of the room, her steps lighter, as though she’d relieved herself of a heavy burden.

 _I suppose she has,_ thought Faba.

***

The house on Route 2 looked too well-maintained for a man like _him._ Faba had seen the place they called “Shady House” in Po Town, and it had disgusted him with its broken windows and paint-splattered walls. But then, this house belonged to Guzma’s family, and kids didn’t always turn out like their parents.

_I, of all people, should know that._

He pressed the doorbell, but there was no sound. It must be broken. Faba sighed and rapped on the door, hurting his knuckles in the process.

 _Slowly count to ten, then knock again._ It wasn’t an appealing idea, but he was determined to see Guzma, even if he had to break his fingers to do it. It wasn’t as though he and the former boss of Team Skull were friends, but they tolerated one another well enough, and Faba had even felt sorry for Guzma when he’d seen the way Lusamine was using him. He knew Guzma would rather die than be the recipient of anyone’s pity, however.

Faba had almost counted to thirty by the time he heard a sleepy “Coming!” from inside the house. Yes, it was Guzma, all right. His parents must be out. Faba shuddered as he imagined living with his _own_ parents at Guzma’s age. Thank God he’d scraped together enough money to leave home the moment he reached adulthood. He didn’t even want to think about what sorts of trouble he’d have to be in to be desperate enough to move back in with them.

“Huh.” Guzma’s eyes swept the length of Faba’s body, and Faba realized he’d forgotten how enormous the man was. “This is unexpected. What’s wrong with you? You look you just came back from the dead. And it’s hard to tell with you sometimes.”

“Thanks,” Faba muttered bitterly. “Anyway, have you eaten yet?”

“Nah. I was thinkin’ about boiling up some ramen.”

“That stuff is absolutely devoid of nutritional value. Well, if you’re talking about the packaged stuff, which I’m sure you are. Come to dinner with me. My treat.”

“Ehhhh…” Guzma gave Faba the once-over a second time. “Look, don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re really not my type. You’re too old for me.”

“I’m not asking you on a date,” Faba snapped. “You think I would be interested in someone as uncouth and slovenly as you? I’ve just received some terrible news, and I need someone to talk about it with. Wicke is pregnant.”

“Oh, is she?” Guzma scratched his head. “Well, I’ll be damned. I’ll have to call her up and congratulate her. But why do _you_ care?”

Oh, for God’s sake…Then again, there was no reason for Guzma to know. He sighed. “Because I’m the father.”

Faba had never seen anyone’s jaw actually drop at hearing surprising news. _That’s one thing I can check off my bucket list, I suppose._

“Really? You and Wicke?” Guzma chuckled and clapped Faba on the shoulder. “Well, who’d’ve thought? You and Wicke. You could do a lot worse. Her…I’m not too sure.”

Faba rolled his eyes. “Are you coming or not?”

“Yeah, yeah. It’s not one of those dress-up restaurants, is it? My tux is, um, at the dry cleaner’s.” He winked.

“No, no. It’s the Bewear Tooth Theatre in Hau’oli. They serve good pizza.”

“Really?” Guzma’s lips formed a wry grin. “You never struck me as the pizza type.”

Faba shrugged. “You never struck me as the cocoa type.”

“Touche.” Guzma gestured toward the inside of the house with his chin. “Go ahead and come in. It’s gonna take me a few minutes to get ready. Gotta water Mom’s plants.”

“All right.” Faba took a seat on a couch in the living room. It really was a nice house, with a spotless carpet, brightly-colored walls, and plenty of light. It looked like the kind of place where anyone could feel at home….

Then he saw the golf clubs.

Faba didn’t know much about golf, but he was quite certain that the clubs were supposed to be straight, not bent, and they certainly weren’t supposed to be broken in half. What had happened to them?

His noticing the clubs seemed to break a spell that had been cast on the room, and now he could see some other _uncomfortable_ things about it: repaired cracks in a teapot on the kitchen counter, marks on the wall suggesting it had been struck with a blunt object, a windowpane that looked newer than all the rest. Uneasiness settled into his body as he began to notice something out of place in every object he saw.

This was not a happy house.

“What’s wrong?”

Faba realized, with a start, that Guzma had finished getting ready, and was now staring down at him. He shook his head. “Nothing. Let’s go.”

***

The Bewear Tooth Theatre always had a movie playing durings its hours of operation. Faba had gotten to know many classic films while eating pizza and drinking iced tea in one of their oaken booths. Tonight, they were playing a newer one, “Red Fog of Terror 2,” and the house was uncomfortably crowded.

“Aw, man, they made a sequel?” Guzma looked like a child who had just been told that Christmas was coming early. “Fuck, I had no idea.”

“Well, you’re going to have to catch it on video,” Faba said. “We’re not watching the movie tonight. I need to talk. That’s why I brought you here.”

Guzma shrugged. “That’s fine. I didn’t wanna start watching in the middle, anyway.”

“Two?” asked the receptionist as she looked from Faba to Guzma and back again. A man on his way out saw the back of Guzma’s jacket and made a face.

“Yes,” Faba answered quickly. “We’d like a booth in the back, if you don’t mind.”

“Sure.” She gestured to one of the servers. “These two gentlemen want a booth in the back, if you can find one.”

“All right.” The server was a young man with black hair that appeared to be dyed. “Right this way, pl— _Boss!?_ ” His eyes widened. “Hey, uh…Imagine seein’ you here!”

“Vern?” Guzma’s mouth stretched into a huge grin. “Damn, it is you! I almost didn’t recognize ya! Good to see ya workin’. They treatin’ you alright here? See you dyed your hair.”

“Yeah.” The man made a face and ran his fingers through his hair. “My old man said purple hair wasn’t ‘respectable.’ I hate to agree with anything he says, but I doubt I could’ve got a job here with it. You want the dough, you dance when they tell ya, right?” He nodded at Faba. “You a friend of Guzma’s?”

“Something like that,” Faba said. “More like a colleague.”

“Yeah, a colleague,” Guzma agreed. “I would never call this nerd my friend. Eh?” He elbowed Faba in the side. “Too embarrasing for both of us.”

Vern guffawed. “Yeah, I noticed Plumes used to say the same thing about you.”

“Shhh!” Guzma clamped a hand over Vern’s mouth, just as Faba said, “Ohhhh?”

“Hey, come on.” Vern pulled Guzma’s hand away. “Anyway, I gotta get you guys to your seats, or the manager’s gonna yell at me again.” He sighed. “I’m on his bad side for being too slow as it is. Shoulda kept my mouth shut.” He led the two men into a separate room. “Here you are.” He handed a pair of menus to Faba and Guzma. “Your server will be here soon.”

***

Faba nearly cried with joy when the pizza arrived. How long had it been since he had sunk his teeth into a hot slice of the Bewear Tooth’s Pepperoni Perfection, inhaling the aroma of that gooey mozzerella, tasting the zesty sauce and garlicky crust? He could not remember the last time he had been here. Most nights, he stayed at work until nine o’clock, went home, and ate a microwaved meal before going to bed.

“So good,” he moaned after swallowing the first bite. “I had forgotten how good food can be.” He took a drink from the frosty mug of beer their server had poured for him. “And drink, for that matter.”

“I’ll take your word for it on the beer,” Guzma said before taking a sip of his cola. “But you’re right about the pizza.”

Faba frowned. “I’m surprised. You don’t drink?”

“Nah. Alcoholism runs in both sides of the family.” Guzma shrugged. “Mom’s never touched the stuff. Dad…Well, he tries. Like Mom, I decided to stop before I started.”

“I see. I guess I still don’t know you that well.” He took another long swig, then set the mug on the table a little too hard, startling himself.

“So, uh…How far along is she?” Guzma asked. 

Faba replayed their conversation in his head. “Uh…I’m not sure. She didn’t say. How soon can they detect a heartbeat?”

“Beats the hell out of me.” Guzma took out his phone. “I can look it up if you want.”

“So could I.” But Faba waited while Guzma looked up the information. “She doesn’t look different yet. She just said that she knows it wasn’t a false positive because the doctor heard a heartbeat.”

“Hmm. Looks like anywhere between 6 to 12 weeks, depending on the equipment used. She could be as far along as three months.” He didn’t look up from his phone. “Well, I’ll be damned. At 12 weeks, it’s about two inches long. Tiny. No wonder she ain’t showin’.”

Faba scowled. “I noticed something—Wicke called it ‘they,’ not ‘it.’ She already sees it as a person. Either that, or she’s carrying twins.” He shuddered. “Can you imagine anything more horrible?”

“Yeah,” Guzma said, grinning. “Triplets.”

“Oh, God. Don’t even say that. But with my luck….” He took another drink of beer. “It was a one-in-a-million chance, Guzma. Wicke and I were careful. She was on the pill. We used condoms. It wasn’t enough. Honestly, if this is some sort of karmic punishment, the guardians are doing their jobs.” He finished his first slice of pizza and grabbed a second. “Guzma, don’t ever have sex with someone who can get pregnant. Or who can get you pregnant, if that’s your…disposition. It’s not worth it. Whatever pleasure you get from sex will never outweigh what having a child will do to your life.”

“Oh, come on, it can’t be that bad.” Guzma stacked a couple of slices onto his plate. “I mean, it’s not like it’s you carryin’ the kid. Does the idea of bein’ a dad upset you that much?”

“Of course it does!” Faba’s voice was louder than he had meant it to be, and a few nearby diners turned to stare. He sank into his seat and spoke again, this time more quietly. “I’ve seen firsthand what a kid can do to your life plans. It will totally—pardon the language, but then again, why would I apologize to _you_ for using this word?—fuck everything up.”

Guzma frowned, a quizzical look in his eyes. “What do you mean, ‘firsthand’? You mean you have a kid already?”

“No.” Faba paused, and, much to his mortification, he felt the sting of tears forming in his eyes. “I mean, I _was_ that kid.”


	2. Chapter 2

Something was poking Faba’s face.

He opened his eyes, then immediately shut them to hide from the painfully bright light which composed his entire field of vision. His stomach was empty, and he was keenly aware of a throbbing pain in his head, but right now, the poking was the most irritating. What was it? 

Bristles, maybe. From a human? A Pokemon? No, there was no give to it. It was almost like….

Shielding his eyes with his hand, he opened them a second time. Two green button eyes stared back at him. It took him a moment to realize that he had, at long last, found Adagio’s favorite chew toy, which had disappeared nearly three months ago. The poor Slowbro had been so distraught over it going missing. Well, he’d be pleased now.

After a minute or so, Faba’s head cleared enough for him to figure out that he was looking under his bed. And if he could see under his bed, that bristly sensation against his cheek was the carpet of his bedroom.

Which could only mean one thing.

He tried to call out to Guzma, but all that came out was a gurgle. He swore and tried again. His only response was a worried squeak from Winnie, his Raichu. How long had _he_ been here?

“I’m fine.” Faba rolled over, which proved to be a mistake, because his curtains were open, and the sunlight shone directly into his eyes. “God _damn_ it.” 

This was going to take a few tries. _Come on, arms, do your stuff_. When was the last time he had been hungover? College? Faba knew his limits and almost always drank responsibly.

“It’s that stupid baby’s fault,” he muttered. Winnie’s face fell, and he quickly added, “No, no, not our Baby, not Baby the Bruxish.” He chuckled softly. “Should’ve thought that one through a little better, huh?” He pushed himself up into a sitting position. “I’m sorry for making you worry, Winnie. Are you hungry?”

Winnie squeaked again, this time more happily.

“Okay, okay, just let me get my bearings….” Slowly, he got to his feet, and when he called Guzma’s name, his voice came out much louder and clearer. 

He didn’t have to call out again; he could hear the huge man stomping up the hallway, shouting, “Yeah, yeah, I’m comin’.” Guzma burst through the door. “Whaddya want?”

Faba scratched his head. “I was wondering if you were still here. You wouldn’t happen to know why I was sleeping on the floor?”

Guzma shrugged. “I tried to get ya to climb into your bed, but you lay down with your head on the floor and your butt in the air, saying you were ‘comfy’ and that you weren’t gonna move an inch. You were smashed as hell. Your Pokemon were all worried about ya, and your Raichu fuckin’ bit me when I tried to give you some water. Now I probably got rabies. You’re welcome.”

“My Winnie does not have rabies.” Faba picked up his beloved Pokemon and cradled him in his arms. “Guzma won’t hurt me, sweetheart. Be nicer next time, okay?” He gave him an extra squeeze, then set him down and carefully got to his feet. “What?” he snapped when he saw Guzma’s incredulous expression.

“Well, I…” Guzma stammered. “I’ve never seen such a sappy look on your face. Could it be you’re actually a big softie when it comes to your Pokemon?”

Before Faba could answer, his phone went off, filling the air with a Lumineon’s cry. “Hold on…Hello?” 

“Faba?” It was Wicke’s voice. “Are you all right? You didn’t have a mental breakdown after yesterday, did you?”

“Of course not.” Faba frowned. She sounded worried. It wasn’t as if he’d….

_Wait._

Wicke sighed. “I’m not saying you don’t deserve to take a day or two off, but I would appreciate some sort of notice if you’re not going to come in. Young Master Gladion was concerned.”

Gladion was? “Hold on.” He pulled the phone away from his ear and looked at the time. Ten o’clock! _Son of a_ — “Oh, God, I’m sorry, Wicke. Tell Young Master Gladion I’m sorry, too.” Gladion was "concerned"? That could mean a number of things, he reminded himself. Surely that child wasn’t actually worried about him. “This will never happen again. I simply…failed to set my alarm. I will be over there as soon as possible.”

“Faba, I can tell him—”

“I’ll see you at work, Wicke.” Faba ended the call and threw the phone on his bed. “Guzma, I’m going to have to ask you to feed my Pokemon. Their foods are all stored in the refrigerator in labeled containers, except for Slowbro’s, which is in the freezer, and Bruxish’s, which is in a small bin right next to the tank. You know where that is, right? In the study, across from the bookcase. Two scoops for each Pokemon, except for Hypno, who only needs one. I’m going to need to shower and brush my teeth.” 

Before Guzma could answer, he threw on his bathrobe and rushed into the bathroom. No time to wait for the water to heat up. Besides, a cold shower might do some good. His head still hurt, but he barely noticed it as he stepped under the water, which probably felt much colder than it actually was.

As he washed himself, the events of last night came back to him.

***15 Hours Earlier***

“You were unplanned?” Guzma shrugged. “So was I. It happens. Probably more often than not.”

Faba folded his hands and looked Guzma straight in the eye. “And were your parents happy with that?”

“Eh….” Guzma shrugged. “Probably not, but they weren’t happy to begin with. My dad’s not an easy guy to live with.”

“They were already married, then?”

“Yeah. Unfortunately.”

Faba’s eyes closed. “My mother…She’s a brilliant woman. Even moreso than myself. Her family was very…traditional. She had to _work_ to earn her dad’s respect. He didn’t like the idea of a woman getting involved in things like science and travel. But even he could not deny what an amazing mind she had. 

“She had received several scholarships and was all set to pay her tuition at one of the most selective, exclusive universities in the region. And then she met my father. To this day, I don’t know if they didn’t use protection, or if it just didn’t work.” He took an enormous drink of his beer before continuing. “But she ended up pregnant. With me. Both her parents and my father’s parents insisted that they get married.” He shook his head. “I don’t know why she listened to them. But anyway, she became a stay-at-home mom so she could take care of me, because my father was useless.” His hands balled into fists, and his voice trembled as he spoke his next words. “He had a job at a convenience store. He completely lacked any sort of ambition. He was perfectly content to work his shift, come home, and watch TV for the rest of the evening. He got promoted maybe once in his entire working life. He had no desire to travel or study or do anything meaningful with his life. And he’s no different now. He’s just a weight around my mother’s neck!”

Guzma listened with a bored expression, but there was a hint of sympathy in his eyes. “Yeah, I can definitely feel ya on that last statement. My mom might’ve been different if she hadn’t married my dad. As it is, she just…waits for death. At least, that’s what I get from lookin’ at her. She’s not sad, but she definitely ain’t happy, either. I think she feels guilty for not doing more to stop him from smackin’ me around.”

Faba’s heart sank. “You mean….”

“Don’t look at me like that. It makes me feel weird.” Guzma avoided Faba’s eyes as he sipped his soda. “Yeah. I got hit. A lotta kids do. And a lot of ‘em got it worse than me.”

“But…but why are you living with him, then?”

“Ain’t got nowhere else to go. ‘Sides, he’s scared of me now. The last time he tried anything, I beat the shit outta him.” There was a definite tone of pride in Guzma’s voice. “Hasn’t laid a finger on me or Mom since. Oh, he still gets mad, breaks stuff, swings those golf clubs around.” He guffawed, slapping the table. “The killer is that he keeps wrecking them, and then he has to pay for more, and then he wrecks ‘em again. He can’t stop himself. When I was a kid, golfing was the one thing that gave him joy in life. Now look at ‘im.” He snorted. “Serves him right, wouldn’t ya say?”

“Y…yes.” Faba was getting uncomfortable. How could he ever tell Guzma how much he disliked his own father—his dull-witted but well-meaning father who had never once spanked his child, let alone “smacked him around”? “So your relationship with your mother is good?”

“Mmm….” Guzma stared into his glass. “I dunno. I have complicated feelings about her. On the one hand, she tried to protect me from him, but…she could have left him. Could’ve left and taken me with her. But they say the most dangerous point in a victim’s life is after they leave their abuser, so…Who knows? I can’t bring myself to confront her about it.” He took another sip. “So let me get this straight. You think bad of your old man because he got your mom pregnant and then didn’t care enough to improve things after you were born?”

Faba nodded, feeling slightly guilty. “That’s the long and short of it. And, well…He was embarrassing. Think a real-life version of Homer Simpson.” He shrugged and sadly eyed the empty pizza platter. “Anyway, he walked around the house wearing jeans and a sleeveless shirt—you know, the ones they call wife-beaters? His posture was atrocious. He often went two or three days without shaving.” His upper lip curled with disgust. “He would make the most revolting belches that stank of beer and sausage, and then not even bother to say ‘Excuse me.’ When my mother wasn’t around, he would ‘adjust’ himself in public. I would say it was like he was raised in a barn, but even a Mudsdale has better manners than him.” He took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “And….” He paused.

“And…?” Guzma prompted.

“One day, in second grade, there was a ‘bring your mom or dad to school’ day. Mom was going to go, but she came down with appendicitis and had to go to the hospital. Dad offered to go with me instead.” He put his head in his hands. “What could I say? ‘No, I’m ashamed of you’? Of course I said yes. The dreaded day came, and at first, he didn’t show up. I was relieved, thinking that maybe he had decided not to come. It wasn’t until after lunch that he slid into the classroom, sweating and covered in dust. The car had broken down, and he’d _run_ all the way to school. The other children and parents practically fell over each other to avoid touching him. He walked over to me, clapped a hand on my shoulder, and said, ‘I’m sorry, champ,’ like I’d struck out in little league or something.”

“Aw, geez.” Guzma scratched his head. “That wasn’t his fault. And it must have meant a lot to him if he went out of his way to get there.”

“I know it wasn’t his fault,” Faba said. “And yet…I wanted nothing more than for him to disappear at that moment. Kids can be so cruel. I could see it in their eyes—the laughter, the scorn. They knew the truth: that my father was a low, classless human being, an embarrassment. I asked him to leave. When he hesitated, I raised my voice and _demanded_ that he leave. I said I didn’t want him there. I didn’t look at him, but I knew I’d hurt his feelings, and I didn’t care.” He clenched his hands into fists. “It didn’t end there. He kept trying to make it up to me, be part of my life. And every time, I hated him more. I hated his existence. Finally, I…I told him off. I was fifteen at the time. I let him have it—all that resentment I’d built up over the years, every single thing I hated about him, right down to the belches.”

“Jesus Christ, Faba. You don’t think that was a little harsh?”

Faba rubbed at one of his eyes. “Yes, I do. No, it was more than a little harsh. It was cruel. But it had the effect I wanted at the time. He got angry. He said that I had no right to treat him like shit just because I was ‘book smart’ and he wasn’t. I told him that it had nothing to do with smartness; he was lazy, uncultured, and repulsive. When he told me that I wouldn’t have been born without him, I snapped back, ‘Good! Then maybe Mom would have been happy!’ He left me alone after that.

“The point, Guzma,” he continued, “is that I’m selfish. In over twenty years, I haven’t apologized, nor have I mended the rift between us. For the first several years, I wasn’t sorry. After that, I was sorry, but too stubborn to admit it. And now….” He sighed. “It’s too late. Even if I did apologize, he would never forgive me. I ruined too much of his life.”

“Damn.” Guzma took a deep breath, then let it out loudly and dramatically. “Look, I ain’t no psychiatrist. But I know a guy with issues when I see ‘em. And you know what I think, bean boy? I think you’re afraid.”

“Of _course_ I’m afraid!” Faba exploded, leaping from his seat—and banging his legs on the table before grimacing and flopping back down to a sitting position. “How can I _not_ be? I’m a terrible boyfriend, and I’d be a worse father. I took ridiculous precautions to ensure that this wouldn’t happen. I haven’t ejaculated inside a vagina in nearly twenty years. Do you even know how hard that was?”

The room fell momentarily silent. Faba’s face turned red as he realized that a few people were staring at him—and the rest were trying very hard not to stare. He covered his face. “I hate this, Guzma.”

“It ain’t so bad,” Guzma said, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. “I mean, there’s hope for you still. At least you care enough about the baby to want it to have a good father.”

Faba shook his head. When he looked up, he could no longer see Guzma due to the tears that obscured his vision. “I _don’t_ care about the baby. I care about me. Myself. I tried to be calm around Wicke, but….” He was unable to hold it in any longer. The tears in his eyes finally fell, leaving hot trails on his cheeks in a way that was both relieving and humiliating. “I don’t want this, Guzma. _I don’t want this_.”

***

The memory was enough to make Faba want to cry again, but he did not have the luxury. If he was going to work his way back up to the rank of branch chief one day, being late was unacceptable. Would he be written up? He shuddered at the thought; he had never been later than five minutes before he had to be at work. Surely his supervisor would remember that?

If only he had a Pokemon that knew Teleport. Instead, he’d have to rely on the usual. Ignoring the complaints of his empty stomach, Faba put on his riding wear, got his things together, stepped outside, and entered the code GLD into his ride pager. Within a span of the longest three minutes Faba had ever experienced in his life, a large, draconic Pokemon appeared in the sky, gradually growing bigger until it touched down in his front yard, causing a mild gale with its heavy wings.

“Hello, Feather.” Having lived on Ula’ula Island for his entire life, Faba knew the names of most of the ride Pokemon. Normally, he would have given Feather a few pats on the head or some scratches behind the ears, but he was in far too much of a hurry to bother today.

Feather bowed to the ground so Faba could climb into the saddle and grab hold of the bars. “I’m late,” he said, “so if you could pick up the pace a little today, I would be most grateful.”

The Charizard snorted in what Faba thought sounded like understanding, flapped his wings several times, and began his ascent.

***

Feather had definitely understood Faba’s request; had Faba been only on time (instead of his usual half hour early), he would have begged his ride to slow down. Instead, he had merely gripped the bars as hard as he could and prayed to the guardians that he would live to see the rest of this awful day. When he dismounted at one of Aether Paradise’s staff entrances, sheer willpower was the only thing that kept him from passing out, and he wondered how fast a Charizard could fly at full speed, if this could be called “picking up the pace a little.”

Faba realized with dismay that he had been in such a hurry, he had forgotten to bring any beans. Although it was impossible to enforce, Alolans considered it extremely poor form if one did not “tip” one’s ride with a berry, malasada, or other type of snack. Ride Pokemon were _working_ , after all, and expended a great amount of energy carrying passengers for 4 to 8 hours per day. “Sorry, boy,” he said, patting Feather’s shoulder. “I’ll try to give you two next time.”

Feather snorted a second time before taking off, and Faba was certain he heard a note of disgust in the Pokemon’s voice.

Much to Faba’s relief, none of the other employees seemed to take any more notice of him than usual, simply greeting him with a nod or a “Hello.” Still, he knew they were aware of his tardiness. How could they not be? _Him_ , former Branch Chief Faba? Coming to work _late_? It might as well be snowing outside. God help the poor bastard who dared to pull that “Who are you and what have you done with the real Faba?” bullshit with him.

The locker room was blessedly empty as he undressed, looking sadly at the white coveralls that lay folded at the bottom of his locker, identical to that of every other bottom-rung employee. It had been over a month since his demotion, but he still longed for the distinction of his custom-made lab coat and gloves. They had given him a sense of purpose, of pride, and had served as a reminder of all that he had done to deserve his title. This drab uniform, on the other hand, reminded him of…well, all that he had done to deserve his lack of a title.

Ignoring his grumbling stomach, Faba changed into his uniform and headed for the docks, where he would be assisting with the storage of whatever shipments arrived that day. _Grunt work_. He could hear his bones and muscles complaining already, and he knew his body would try and come up with an excuse to stop working before long. What people didn’t understand was that he wasn’t _lazy_. It was just that every time he thought about how much he didn’t want to do something, his leg or his head or his backside would start to ache. Of course, it was never enough for him to need to stop—just enough for everyone to see how miserable he was. He knew that the workers all hated his “attitude,” even if he never uttered a single word of complaint.

 _Lift with the legs, not with the back_ , he reminded himself as he picked up a box of laboratory equipment. This was the worst thing of all to carry—he would have to take it to the underground labs, and the likelihood of encountering the scientists who used to work directly under him was high. If he was lucky, they would be wearing masks, and he would not have to know who was watching him lug around supples like some common _laborer_. Regardless of the expressions on their faces—pity, triumph, curiosity, or even simple friendliness—it was still humiliating.

They probably talked about him behind his back—laughed at him, most likely, or agreed that it was much easier working under Wicke than it had been working under him. It was probably true, but he still hated to think about it.

As the words _I didn’t deserve this_ ran through his head for what felt like the thousandth time, he noticed an odd feeling in his upper arms, almost as if they were made of something much heavier than flesh and bone. An unfamiliar, clammy sensation began to spread throughout his body, and he realized that his limbs were shaking; his body felt foreign to him, and so did the box he was carrying.

“Hey, are you all right?” someone asked.

“I…I don’t know,” he said. His voice sounded small, afraid, and far away. _Am I dying? Is this what ghosts feel like?_ He sank to the floor, setting his burden down in front of him, and sat on the linoleum. Yes, this was good. This was comfortable. He eyed the cardboard box in front of him; it looked like the perfect place to rest his head and go to sleep.

Ignoring the increasing number of voices gathering around him, Faba did just that.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: There is an insensitive remark about miscarriage in this chapter. (I'm sure you can guess who makes it.)

“Faba. Hey. Faba.” Someone was sitting much too close to him, lightly slapping his cheek. “Here. Eat this.” 

Something invaded Faba’s mouth, and he immediately recognized it as a cheese danish, probably from one of the vending machines. Instinctively, he began to chew, carefully at first, as his mind tried to catch up with the automatic movements of his body.

“Sorry if you don’t like it. It’s all I have.” A beat. “Wait, you’re not lactose intolerant, are you? Allergic to gluten?” His voice was panicked.

Faba shook his head as he swallowed more of the most delicious-tasting food in existence, realizing he was ravenous. He grabbed the pastry from the other man’s hand and devoured the rest of it in a matter of seconds.

“Here.” The employee handed him a bottle of water. “If you’re thirsty.”

Something pinged in the back of Faba’s mind. _Nothing’s better than water for a hangover._ Who had told him that? It didn’t matter. He opened the bottle and took a long, satisfying drink, ignoring the disagreeable sensation of the freezing liquid coursing down his throat. When he finally pulled the bottle away from his lips, there was less than half remaining. He looked at it and sighed. “I’m sorry. Was this yours?”

“Don’t worry about it.” The man patted him on the back. “My girlfriend’s diabetic. I know the symptoms of low blood sugar when I see them.”

“I’m not diabetic,” Faba said. The fog in his brain made it difficult to speak. “I just didn’t eat pregnant.”

“Pregnant?” The employee looked confused for a moment; then, he smiled. “Oh, breakfast? Yeah, it’s not a good idea to go without. It’s harder to do your job--physically and mentally—if you’re hungry. That’s why schools have free breakfast programs, you know. Studies have been done on this kind of thing. Our brains literally don’t work right when we don’t have the nutrients we need.”

“Mm.” Faba tried to keep track of what this man was saying, but his brain had decided it was more important to fret over his plight. “My Wicke is pregnant.”

 _Oh, God_. He’d tried to say “my partner” and “Wicke” at the same time. Now he sounded like some sappy romantic, or maybe like a male chauvinist.

The employee’s eyes widened. “Really? Branch Chief Wicke?”

“Oh, shit.” Faba took off his cap and placed a hand on his forehead. “Don’t tell anyone. I didn’t mean to say that. What’s your name, anyway?”

“Raleigh.” His answer was automatic and without inflection, as though he were still trying to process what Faba had confessed to him. 

“I’m Faba.”

He nodded, even as his incredulous expression remained. “I know. Is it okay if I call you that, then? I mean, do you prefer ‘Mr. Faba’ or ‘Employee Faba’ or something?”

Faba groaned. “No. ‘Faba’ is fine.” His brain was finally waking up, and he saw that he was in one of the break rooms. “How long was I out? Where is everyone?”

“Kevin helped me carry you in here,” Raleigh said, “but I told him I’d take care of reviving you. I hope you don’t mind that I told him you were low. Although you said you’re not diabetic, so I guess it doesn’t matter.”

“I’m….” Oh, what the hell. “I’m hungover.” He finished the bottle and set it on the table. “I didn’t react well to Wicke’s news. I went out and got drunk. I couldn’t think of anything else to do. My life as I know it is over. I’m terrified.”

“Damn.” Raleigh sat next to Faba and put a hand on his shoulder. “I can sympathize there, man. If Rachael got pregnant, we’d _both_ freak out. What did she say?”

“Nothing. She wasn’t there.” Then, for a reason he couldn’t quite explain, he added, “I’m a bad person. I needed to spend some time away from her. She’s so—so _thrilled_ about it. And I’m not. I hate that this is happening. I can’t stand children. They’re loud and disgusting and defiant. But what can I do? I can’t just abandon her and her— _our_ child. I couldn’t even look at myself if I weren’t present in its life in some way. Something substantial—more than monthly child support payments. I don’t _want_ to, but I feel like I _need_ to.”

Raleigh nodded sympathetically. “I don’t envy your position, that’s for sure. I think maybe you’re being too hard on yourself, though. At least you’re decent enough to feel like you should be a father to your kid. There are plenty of folks out there who wouldn’t even feel that way, let alone do anything about it.” 

“I’m not heartless.” Faba tossed the bottle in the recycle bin and got to his feet. “Although I’m sure most of you employees see me that way. No, don’t bother denying it,” he said as Raleigh opened his mouth to protest. “I _was_ heartless at times. It’s frighteningly easy to become that kind of person in the professional world. It would do to remember that, young man.”

Raleigh nodded again. “I’ll be sure to do so.”

 _He’s humoring me_ , Faba thought, but it didn’t matter. There was work to do, and he was surely in hot water already, coming in late like some college kid who’d partied too hard the night before. “Thanks for everything, Raleigh. If you need me to verify that you were assisting me, let me know. I would hate for you to be disciplined on my account.” He shook his head. “But I doubt you will be. Wicke, I am certain, will be far more understanding than I would have been.”

***

“Faba, that’s enough.”

It was well after six, but Faba had barely noticed the time pass; he had even become capable of ignoring his cramping muscles as he made countless trips from the docks to all locations within Aether Paradise and back again. Startled by Wicke’s voice, he came close to dropping his package for the second time that day. Instead, he carefully set it on the floor—as before—and turned around to face her, forcing himself to smile. “Can I help you?”

“No. Is it that unusual for me to be concerned about my dear friend?” She gestured at the package. “Why don’t you finish what you’re doing and call it a night? I know you want to make up for coming in late today, but I’m concerned that you’re overworking yourself. I heard that you passed out earlier.”

“Ah, that was….” Faba leaned against the wall as he tried to think of a way to word what had happened without making her worry. “I was in a hurry, so I didn’t eat breakfast. It won’t happen again.”

She shook her head. “Faba, your work performance could not be of less concern to me, or to Gladion. I’m sure you’ll be back at the laboratory in no time. Think of this as an opportunity to get to know the other employees.”

Faba clenched his teeth. She really didn’t understand, but he supposed he couldn’t blame her. “I know I got what was coming to me. But I don’t _want_ to get to know them. They’re…looking down on me, Wicke. I know they are. They’re either laughing at me, or they feel sorry for me, but either way, they don’t see me as an equal. They don’t respect me. Not like they did before.” _Oh, no, not the tears again_. He covered his mouth and turned away. He wasn’t the pregnant one, damn it. Why was he being so emotional lately?

“Oh, Faba….” Her footsteps approached him, but he kept his back to her. “I know this is hard. And I won’t pretend that I understand what you’re going through.” She put her arms around his waist. “But you’re doing the right thing. We all have parts of ourselves we need to work on.”

“I can’t forgive myself,” he whispered. “I burned so many bridges to get to my former title. I didn’t care if people ‘liked’ me or not. I just wanted them to respect me. And I hurt Pokemon, something I thought I would never do.” Sobs shuddered through his body as Wicke tightened her grip on him. “How did this happen? How did I come to care so much about personal success that I compromised my princples to the point where I forgot I even had them?”

“I’m not proud of everything I did, either,” Wicke said quietly. “Every day, I ask myself why I didn’t do more to help Gladion and Lillie. Why I didn’t confront Lusamine more directly.”

“She wouldn’t have listened,” Faba said. “Even her own children couldn’t reach her. She changed after Mohn disappeared. We…all did.” He turned around and pulled Wicke into an embrace. “I’m sorry. I haven’t even asked how you’re feeling.”

Wicke chuckled. “See? You’re improving. Before, you wouldn’t have even thought of that.” She rested her head on Faba’s shoulder. “This is nice. I wouldn’t mind if you did it more often.”

Faba licked his lips nervously. “You probably think I’m too ashamed to be seen with you in public. But it’s not that. Not really. I just like to keep my private life private. When people know you’re seeing someone, they get all obnoxious. They tease you about it. They make a big deal about it. You can’t do anything on your own anymore; it’s always about your girlfriend or your boyfriend. You take up a new hobby, they ask you if your partner likes it. You get a promotion, they ask how your partner feels about it. When you say you have a date, they giggle and they go ‘Ooooh!’ and they make innuendos. I _hate_ innuendos.” He sighed. “Why do people have to be so irritating, anyway? Why can’t they just mind their own business?”

“You’re just not a ‘people person,’” Wicke told him. “That’s all right. And in this case, you are right. People would make a big deal about us dating. Not necessarily in a bad way, but I know you don’t like it when people pry.” She stepped back and looked at him, her face serious. “You know, Faba, I do feel bad about this. In a way, I wish it hadn’t happened. I feel like I’m being selfish in keeping this child.”

“Or children,” Faba muttered.

“Or children.” She paused for a few moments, as if going over in her head what she was going to say next. “Faba, sooner or later, we’re going to need to talk about this. About custody. About visitations. About whether or not you want to be listed on the birth certificate. And….” She took a deep, shuddering breath. “I’ve given it a lot of thought, Faba. And I’ve come to a decision.”

Faba’s blood went cold. “What?”

“I know you said you would provide for the child, and I believe you. And I believe you think you meant it when you said you could love them.”

His eyes narrowed. “What do you mean, I ‘think’ I meant it? I did.”

“Good. But love won’t be enough.” Wicke looked him straight in the eye. “Faba, I’m going to need you to be a father to our child if we’re going to stay together. If you can’t do that, we should end it before they’re born.”

Her conviction startled him. He had more or less accepted that he would have to suck it up and be a father, but hearing it from someone else made him feel stubborn. “I’ll do what I want to do,” he said, struggling to keep his voice steady. “And I don’t appreciate you using that tone with me. I never thought _you_ would try to blackmail me, Wicke.”

Wicke shook her head, dumbfounded. “Is that what you think I’m doing?”

“You…You’re basically saying that you’ll dump me if I don’t turn into some sort of family man.” He knew he was about to say something he would regret, but it didn’t matter. She’d hurt him. Only _he_ was allowed to be strict with himself. “Working nine to five instead of eight to six. Staying home on weekends. Doing _dad_ things. Grilling steaks. Driving a minivan. Going to ballgames and school plays. Wearing…wearing _jeans!_ ” His voice was getting higher and louder with each word. “But what pisses me off the most is that you didn’t trust me. I already _said_ I wanted to be there for the little parasite, but that’s not enough for you. You think I’m going to be…Oh, I don’t know why I’m mad! I just am!” He sat on the floor, rubbing his forehead. “Did you have to say it like that? You make me feel like the only reason you want me around is to take care of your kid. Like nothing else about our relationship matters to you.” _Don’t say it. There’s still time. Just don’t say what you’re thinking._ “I never thought you would be so _selfish_ , Wicke. Just because you want to pass on your genetic information, you’re choosing a complete stranger—one who could, for all we know, die before it’s even born—over me, someone you’ve known for years. Someone I thought you cared about.”

When he saw her expression, he felt satisfied—for a split second. He had succeeded in shocking her. But, as always, that smugness fell away, leaving only disgust and self-loathing.

They stared at each other for several silent, agonizing moments.

“You tell me that you never thought I’d be so selfish,” Wicke finally said. “I, on the other hand, know how selfish you can be. At least, I thought I did. But you’ve managed to stun even me. Congratulations.”

He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. What could he say? What could possibly make up for that little tantrum, and the hurtful words he’d spoken? Had he _really_ brought up the possibility of a miscarriage to someone who was pregnant? Did she think that was what he wanted? _Was_ it what he wanted?

“I wonder sometimes,” she continued, “if you’re even capable of understanding other people’s feelings. Or is it that you do understand, and you enjoy hurting them?”

“No,” he whispered, but he doubted his own sincerity, and she probably did as well. He _did_ enjoy hurting people—when he perceived them to be hurting him. Even then, that triumph was always brief, and then it hurt, hundreds of times in proportion to how good it felt for that infinitesimally small amount of time.

“I don’t understand what you meant to accomplish just now. I don’t know if you honestly thought I was being selfish, or if this is your way of ending things, because you never learned how to break off a relationship in a healthy way.” He detected a slight tremor in her voice, but otherwise, the shock had worn off, and she betrayed no emotion. “I said you were improving earlier. I meant it then, but now, I’m not so sure. While it’s true that you were far less kind before, you also never hurt me as much as you did just now.

“I never asked for a relationship, Faba. Regardless of your reasons, you were the one who’s always shied away from any sort of intimacy. But I enjoyed our time together, and I was content with the way things were.” She placed a protective hand on her abdomen. “It’s true. I am more concerned with this ‘little parasite’ than I am with you. You’re an adult who can take care of himself. But _if_ this child is born—” Her voice shook even more, and she took a moment to compose herself. “…they will be completely dependent on me for survival. And they will need more than food and shelter and love. They will need someone—hopefully two someones—who are committed to being there when they are hurting, to look after them when I’m busy, or to work with me to arrange for someone to watch them when we’re both busy. Someone who will put them first at least some of the time.”

Faba couldn’t look her in the eye. He felt himself shrinking, withering like a dried-up plant. Disgust with his own cruel, filthy words and actions filled his mind and body, growing until he thought he would burst. Yet he embraced it. It was familiar, and oddly comforting. 

_Yes,_ he thought. _This is who I am. I was a fool for thinking I could change. Good people like her don’t understand. It’s too hard for people like me to be good. Too hard…._

When he looked up, she was gone. He rubbed his eyes, realizing he had dozed off. What had she thought of that? Had she considered it more evidence that he was pushing himself too hard, or had she been too angry to care?

 _I’m losing it. I overslept this morning; I shouldn’t be this tired. And I’ve never fallen asleep standing up before._ He looked up at the clock on the wall. Six thirty-seven. It felt much later. Normally, late afternoon to early evening was his favorite time of day, when he could immerse himself in his research and not have to worry about being bothered by his subordinates and their stupid questions and comments.

But tonight, all he wanted to do was go home and cry.

He took the box to its destination and walked to the locker room. It was as empty, just the way he liked it. Yet he couldn’t help but feel a sense of melancholy as he changed into his riding wear, which did nothing to help his already low spirits.

He was almost out the door when he remembered that he had no beans for his ride. He groaned, resisting the urge to tempt fate by asking if things could get any worse. It wasn’t a big problem—he was _still_ heading home earlier than usual tonight, and if there was one place that had more than enough Poke Beans, it was Aether Paradise. They were everywhere: in the conservation area, in storage, even in the labs. The lounge would be the closet place, so he headed in that direction.

As he stepped inside the large break room, he saw that someone had left their phone on one of the tables. Shaking his head at the irresponsibility of some people, Faba picked it up and pressed the home button twice. He snorted at the wallpaper—an image of a donut saying “Sometimes I feel empty inside.” Clearly, whoever it was hadn’t the forethought to protect his phone with a passcode. Not that that narrowed the list of possible owners by much.

None of the apps stood out to Faba as anything that an average person his age or younger wouldn’t have. There was the internet, email, a couple of games, and a few of the most popular social media apps. Maybe if he went to Settings….

The phone vibrated, and a text message from someone named “Charolette” popped up:

_heard the bean man passed out today. wuldve liked to be there to see that!_

Faba stared at the message, stunned. _Charolette?_ He had never imagined she would call him “bean man.” She had always been so quiet and respectful. Maybe it was a different Charolette…although he had never even of heard of anyone else with that name. 

Scowling, he tapped the message to respond:

_He doesn’t like being called “bean man,” you know. His name is “Faba.” You should use it._

He sat in one of the chairs and waited for her to respond. About thirty seconds later, she answered:

_Jeez, sorry, lol. who sneezed in ur coffee today?_

He frowned. Had he really sounded that disgrunted? He didn’t understand how these young people talked…although they probably weren’t more than five to ten years younger than himself. Was he Generation X? Y? A millennial? He wasn’t sure. Labels seemed to mean nothing these days—always changing, always failing to do their one job of describing people. _Labels are for soup cans,_ he had been told, but that was a ridiculous idea. Labels were merely names, and names were one of the most basic and necessary structures of language. Without labels, communication was impossible.

A new message popped up:

_rals? u ok?_

No. No, he wasn’t okay. He might never be okay again.

_I’m fine. Sorry I didn’t respond. I was thinking about something._

Charolette’s response:

_lol. did rach steal ur phone again? This doesn’t sound like u. or like raleigh. Rach, that is u, rigth?_

Apparently, Raleigh didn’t value punctuation and spelling any more than this woman. He quickly typed: 

_Yes, you caught me. This is Rachel._

A moment passed, and Charolette answered: 

_ok, now ur really freakin me out. who is this? rachael would never mispell her own name._

Damn. Faba scowled. What was the point of having different spellings for a given name? The jig was up. Any further attempts at lying would only scare her further. He slowly typed: 

_This is Faba._

He watched the screen for several minutes, waiting for Charolette’s reply. Even though their conversation had been completely pointless, he realized that he had enjoyed talking to her. 

It didn’t make sense. 

*** 

“Here you go, Feather.” Faba handed the Charizard three Poke Beans and gave him an affectionate pat on the head before going inside and changing into his everyday wear. He frowned as he looked at his reflection. He had always been a little below average in the weight department, but now, his face looked gaunt and exhausted. This was not something that could be explained by skipping breakfast. Bags were beginning to form under his eyes, he noted with dismay. He wasn’t getting any younger, that was certain. Still, he took good care of himself, and was not terribly concerned about age at this point. 

He remembered his crying and dozing earlier. Something was definitely wrong with him. Was it shock? Was he reacting to the idea of being a father, or perhaps to his demotion? Was he worn out emotionally from talking about his father to Guzma, and from the argument with Wicke? 

_Bean man._ He snorted. It certainly wasn’t the first time he’d been called _that._ But to think even Charolette called him that behind his back…What about Raleigh? Kevin? All the other “nice” employees? Had _any_ of them ever respected his title? 

Faba walked over the couch and lay on his side, clutching one of the pillows to his chest. His stomach was beginning to grumble again. Maybe he _should_ try to eat a little better. It wasn’t as though he enjoyed eating nothing but pre-packaged food. But cooking was such a pain in the neck. You had to buy the ingredients, prepare them, wait for the the food to cook (sometimes while monitoring it so it didn’t burn or bubble over), and then clean up afterward. 

Wicke liked to cook. Every now and then, she brought something she’d made for him the night before to his office. Really, she was always doing little things like that for him. What had he ever done for her? Maybe she was right. Maybe he should just end this before— 

_Karma, karma, karma, karma, karma chameleon  
You come and go, you come and—_

Faba jumped. What the hell was—He fumbled in his pockets before pulling out the culprit: Raleigh’s phone. Now, _that_ was a song he hadn’t heard in a while. Apparently, Rachael was calling. Maybe she could come to his house and pick it up. “Hello, this is Bran—this is Faba.” 

“Why are you pretending to be Rachael pretending to be me?” 

All right, so it was Raleigh using Rachael’s phone. Whatever. “I…I don’t know. I didn’t want…I don’t know,” he said again. 

“You scared the bejesus out of Charolette,” Raleigh said. “She’s afraid you’re going to fire her. She feels really bad about what she said.” 

“I couldn’t fire her even if she wanted to. I’m just a normal employee now, remember?” He recalled their conversation. “She didn’t say anything that bad. Well, she apparently thought the idea of me passing out was amusing, but…out of all the things I’ve been called in my life, ‘bean man’ is not the worst.” _Or even close,_ he thought. 

“I’ll let her know.” Raleigh paused. “But you shouldn’t do things like that. I’m actually surprised you did. It’s…juvenile.” 

Faba cringed. This man certainly knew how to hit below the belt. “I…I wasn’t trying to play pranks or pick a fight or anything. I just…I knew that if I said who this was, she…she would hang up. I didn’t want that. I wanted to keep talking.” Shame burned his cheeks as he considered the implications of that statement. “I mean, it’s not like I’m desperate or anything. I’m just…” _Lonely._ “I’m just bored.” 

“I see.” 

Faba supposed he wanted his phone back. “Raleigh…the other employees…They don’t like me, do they?” 

“Like you?” Raleigh sounded taken aback. “Well, it’s not…Hold on, let me go to another room.” 

He was stalling, Faba realized. “All right.” He heard Raleigh say something, and a female response, but he could not quite make out what they were saying. 

A few moments later, Raleigh spoke again. “Sorry about that. Anyway…If I’m being honest, I can’t say that you’ve ever come across as someone who wanted to be liked.” 

Faba smiled bitterly. “No, I don’t suppose I have.” 

“You’ve…been kind of a jerk,” he admitted. “I mean, again, if I’m being honest. It’s nothing personal, but you have. 

“Like…Okay, like, one time, Kevin had been carrying boxes back and forth, and he was really out of breath. You told him that maybe, if he lost some weight, he wouldn’t be so out of shape.” 

“What’s wrong with that?” Faba asked. “It’s the truth. One of the things you need to do to lose weight is exercise. He’d have better stamina.” 

“Do you think he hasn’t heard that a thousand times? Do you think he hasn’t tried to lose weight? It’s not as easy as you might think. He and other overweight people have to hear stuff like that all the time, and most of them have tried to eat right and exercise. But you don’t know what’s going on in someone’s life, or what challenges they’re facing. What’s more, anyone would have been worn out after doing what he was doing. I get tired myself, working the docks.” He stopped for a moment, then added, “Kev is really sensitive. You made him cry.” 

“He…cried?” Faba couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “But…he didn’t say anything to me. He seemed fine.” 

“He couldn’t do it in front of you. Who knows what you would have said?” There was no mistaking the accusation in Raleigh’s voice. 

Faba had to admit, he’d never had much patience for tears. “I don’t know. But I didn’t mean anything by it. I was just trying to help.” 

“Maybe, but you came across as cruel and uncaring. And then there was that other time with Charolette…” 

“What about her?” Faba asked. “I’ll have you know that I’ve always respected her gender identity.” 

“Yeah, but don’t you remember when she started working here?” he continued. “She was given the male uniform, and when she requested to have it replaced with the female one, you refused.” 

“I told her that wearing the male uniform didn’t make her any less of a woman,” Faba explained. “Women wear pants all the time. It’s not like she’s a man wearing a skirt. She was assigned a uniform according to the M on her driver’s license. It would have been too much of a hassle to get her a different one.” 

“I know, but….” Raleigh sighed. “It’s hard to explain dysphoria to someone who’s never experienced it. But she was the only female employee wearing a male uniform. Can you see how that would have made her feel more self-conscious—like she wasn’t being seen as a woman?” 

“I…I suppose so.” Faba’s face fell. “I guess I made her cry, too?” 

“I wasn’t there, so I don’t know. But she was really upset when she told me about it later.” 

“How _did_ she end up getting a female uniform?” 

“She went to Wicke about it. Wicke was far more understanding than you were.” 

Of course she was. “Wicke is…good.” 

“Yeah.” Raleigh sounded sad, as well. “I feel kind of bad for you, Faba. If you really want people to like you, you’re off to a pretty rocky start. I mean, no offense, but you’re quite a bit older than us, right? You’ve had a lot of time to get people to dislike you.” 

The words stung, but he was right. “I’m not that much older than you. But I suppose what you said makes sense.” He sighed. “I have a lot of people to apologize to, I guess.” 

“Yeah. For a start, anyway. But they might not forgive you right away…or ever. Do you think you can handle that? Do you think you can keep trying, even if everyone rejects you?” 

He swallowed nervously. It was very possible that Wicke would not forgive him. The thought of her no longer being a part of his life was almost too much for him to take. He could easily see him sliding back into his old ways without her support… 

_But maybe…_

“Raleigh,” he said, feeling more vulnerable than he could remember, “if they don’t…forgive me, will you still believe in me?” 

A pause that seemed to take forever followed. “Yeah,” he finally said. “If you just keep pushing forward, I’ll believe in you. And if you need to talk to me about it, go ahead. If you feel so full of resentment or hurt that you’re going to explode, talk to me or Rachael or Celestine, or anyone else who’s not involved. Just don’t take it out on the person who didn’t forgive you.” 

“I’ll do my best,” he said. “Thank you. And I’ll return your phone tomorrow. And tell Charolette I’m not upset. I’ve always liked her.” 

“Good.” He thought he heard a smile in Raleigh’s voice. “Have a good night, Faba. See you tomorrow.” 

“All right. Goodnight.” Faba ended the call, then set the phone in his pocket. He’d put it in his briefcase later. 

His other pocket pinged, and Faba picked it up. It was a text from Wicke. 

_I know you’re trying. Let’s talk about it tomorrow. How about we meet in my office at 12:30?_

Tomorrow…Yes, tomorrow would be a day of apologizing. First Wicke, then Charolette and Kevin. They were all nice people. Then maybe… 

_Sounds good. See you tomorrow, Wicke._


End file.
